


Sincerely, Anonymous

by tiny_septic_box_sam



Category: Jacksepticeye (YouTuber RPF), Markiplier (Youtuber RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Internet Dating, M/M, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7922632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiny_septic_box_sam/pseuds/tiny_septic_box_sam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He felt his positivity budding up a small bit now that he had an email address. Finally, a consistent presence that he could talk to! Sure, he didn’t know anything about the person as far as their name or even their gender, but that was kind of the beauty of it. He didn’t know them, and more importantly, they didn’t know him.<br/>And what more did he need to know, anyway? His mysterious new friend liked Goat Simulator and worked from home. It wasn’t a perfect partnership, but what better company could he ask for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Nameless Friend

            Mark Fischbach liked plenty of things about L.A., but one thing that he would _never_ grow to love was traffic. Not just the traffic on the road—which didn’t pertain to him anyway, since he didn’t own a car—but even the foot traffic on the sidewalks was frustrating in its own special way.

            Like today, for example. The sky had practically broken open and was releasing eighteen million tons of rain, and Mark had taken the subway as close to his house that he could. He still had a twenty minute walk from the outskirts of the city to the neighborhood right on the edge of the hill, and he’d only worn a light hoodie that day.

            He could feel his phone ringing in his pocket, but he ignored it. He was shivering too much to answer it, and there were too many other cold, wet people around him for him to reach into his pocket anyway. He was practically shoulder-to-shoulder with every other resident and tourist in Los Angeles, and it was starting to make it hard for him to breathe.

            Besides, he knew it was probably Kayla, calling to find out what in the world was taking him so long to get home. Never mind that the wrath of God had basically fallen over California.

            He crossed the street, and the pack of people around him blessedly thinned the more often he commuted across the roads towards his neighborhood. Finally, as he exited city territory and turned onto the road leading to his house, he was completely alone with only the rain to keep him company. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

            His house beckoned to him like a beacon, and with great relief he unlocked the front door and let himself inside, shutting it behind him. He hovered on the welcome mat and let himself drip all over it.

            Further in, he could hear somebody moving about the kitchen. He hoped it was Kayla and not a serial killer.

            Sure enough, it was. She poked her head into the living room and eyed Mark up and down with a slight smirk. Her bright, freshly-dyed violet hair fell in iridescent waves.

            “I guess you figured out it was raining today?”

            Mark rolled his eyes, but he tried not to be too annoyed. She was just trying to make conversation.

            “Yeah, found out the hard way,” he confessed, stepping off the rug.

            “That’s what you get for going out without telling me!” Kayla said smugly, disappearing back behind the doorway. Mark heard her clanking around in the pots and pans and wondered if she was baking something. If Kayla wasn’t working or spending time out with her vapid, bitchy friends, she was usually making something sweet for them to eat. “Go throw your soggy clothes in the dryer before they attract mold!”

            A little skeeved, Mark shuffled into the kitchen where the washer and dryer were set into the wall and pulled off his hoodie, shirt, jeans, and socks unceremoniously. Then, seeing how his underwear clung wetly to the rest of him, he pulled those off too and started the cycle.

            Kayla glanced behind her and let out a low whistle. “Well, I meant take them off in your _room_ and bring them back out, but this view is pretty good too.” He could practically hear the lewd smile in her voice. “I hope the neighbors are enjoying the show.”

            Mark bit his lower lip, trying not to flush. She was only kidding with him, after all. “Nothing anybody hasn’t already seen…,” he mumbled, exiting the kitchen. “I’m gonna shower!”

            “Don’t use all the hot water!” Kayla called after him. “I’m showering too! I’ve got plans with the girls tonight!”

            _Oh, great_ , Mark thought disdainfully to himself. Kayla was great when it was them one-on-one, but most of her friends acted like they were still sorority girls in college (maybe because they wished they were), and normally their nights out consisted of them bar-hopping until they were too fucked-up to walk, and Mark having to receive her drunk ass stumbling out of a cab and usually vomiting on the lawn.

            But he couldn’t exactly tell her to ditch her friends. Usually he just tried to move past it. Sure, it was frustrating, but everybody had _some_ sort of grievance with their significant other, right? He was sure that there were things he did that Kayla didn’t like. For instance, he had a nagging suspicion that she was unimpressed with his YouTube career, because usually when he met her old friends or distant family, she introduced him as “the guy who tapes himself playing _those games_.” It wasn’t an insult in and of itself, but it didn’t exactly feel like appreciation.

            Still, as he walked into their shared bedroom and into the master bathroom, he passed her memorabilia that was strewn about the room: a shimmery party dress hanging on the doorknob that he knew she looked stunning in, probably picked out for tonight; a framed photo of the two of them sitting on the dresser, a photo that she’d had both developed and displayed in a heart-shaped frame as a surprise for him; and sitting on top of her jewelry box, spread out lovingly so that it wouldn’t tangle, was a silver chain with a bright red ruby in the center, which had been a birthday gift from Mark two years ago. She polished the necklace semi-regularly to keep it shiny and wore it with almost every outfit, taking every opportunity to announce that her _boyfriend_ had gotten it for her to show how much he cared.

            Mark tried to shake off his earlier annoyance. He could chalk it up to the bad weather and the failed errand he’d tried to run today. (He desperately needed a new camera lens, but both Best Buys near him had been out of the one he wanted.) He reminded himself that Kayla was close to being his longest-standing girlfriend, and that was because she was hilarious, good-looking, baked like a pro, and as loyal as a police dog.

            But…still. Had she known it was going to rain today? Had she _really_ not told him so just because he went out without asking her if she wanted to come?

            Mark stepped into the shower, allowing the near-boiling water to wash away the day.

                                                                                                                                   

            Because he’d been hoping to have a new lens by this time, Mark hadn’t prepared any videos before he went out, meaning that he had to churn two out and edit them in less than two hours while Kayla showered, primped, and got dressed one room over.

            Luckily, she’d learned not to be too loud when Mark’s recording room door was shut and locked, so it didn’t interfere with his recording too much. Looking back over the footage, he felt like his commentary was a little off, probably because of the dull mood he was still struggling to shake, but he didn’t have time to rerecord anything. He’d just have to hope nobody else noticed.

            He edited them as quickly as he could and set them to go out in the evening. They were going to be late, but anyone that watched him consistently was probably used to that by now.

            The house was silent, meaning that Kayla was probably already gone. Mark exited the room and walked into the kitchen, where he was rewarded with the sight of a coffee cake sitting on the stovetop. He cut himself a piece and brought it back to his recording room, where his computer remained on his editing software.

            Mark’s heart began to pound. He didn’t know why doing this always made him so nervous; it’s not like anybody was even _home_ this time. Still, he couldn’t help feeling jittery as he closed the door, sat down in front of his computer, and opened up Omegle.

            There was something strangely liberating about Omegle, especially for Mark. It wasn’t that he was lonely; he had Kayla always, as well as Tyler or Bob or Wade or Jack or Arin or Danny if he wanted a friend to talk to. But it wasn’t about loneliness. It was about the chance that using these sorts of anonymous chatting websites offered him to be somebody completely unrecognizable from himself. While he was nothing if not grateful for the success his videos had received, it was nice to be able to talk to somebody that _wasn’t_ affiliated with YouTube, or someone that very well might recognize him and cause an unwanted scene. No, keeping his anonymity was much better.

            Still, it felt like a dirty little secret, which is why he hadn’t told anybody—not even his friends, not even his girlfriend. He worried they’d think he was creepy if any of them found out he was chatting with strangers while hiding his identity.

            Mark logged on and typed “video games” into the interest bar. Almost immediately, he was chatting with someone.

 

 **You:** Hi!

 **Stranger:** wat games do u paly

 **You:** Almost all games.

 **Stranger:** wat about minecraft

 **You:** I used to. Not much anymore.

 

**Stranger has disconnected.**

            “Well fuck you too then,” Mark muttered to himself.

 

 **You:** Hello

 **Stranger:** heyyy ;)

 **You:** What’s up?

 **Stranger:** a/s/l?

 

**You have disconnected.**

            Mark had absolutely no interest in having cybersex on Omegle.

            “C’mon, just gimme one nice person to talk to,” he muttered to himself. Some days were nice when he met people that genuinely wanted to talk, but some days he only ran into horny people, twelve-year-olds, and horny twelve-year-olds. It looked like today might be the latter.

            Mark kept at it anyway, and he was quickly put into a chat room.

 

 **You:** Hello?

 **Stranger:** Hello!

 **You:** Hey! What’s up?

 **Stranger:** Not much, lol. Just creeping around on Omegle.

 **You:** Creeping, huh? What’s that mean? Lol

 **Stranger:** Just means I’ve been online for a while looking for someone fun to talk to, but so far I’ve been shit outta luck.

 **You:** Me too. Some illiterate kid kicked me out of the chat just because I said I don’t play Minecraft.

 **Stranger:** Ugh. I don’t blame you. I haven’t played Minecraft in YEARS.

 **You:** Great! I’m not alone in the world!

 **Stranger:** Haha! So what kind of games DO you like to play?

 

            Mark grinned as he started typing out his list of favorites. This was it. This was exactly what he wanted. There was no pressure to choose his words carefully, there was no pressure to hide his identity; it was just pure, friendly conversation, something Mark’s life had been lacking for longer than he cared to remember.

 

 **You:** I play everything, especially horror. I like FNAF and Amnesia and stuff.

 **Stranger:** That’s cool. I never really got into FNAF though.

 **You:** That’s okay, most people I know didn’t. What do you like to play?

 **Stranger:** I like platformers! And open-world shit like Goat Simulator. Anything with weird physics is good by me.

 **You:** Ha! Goat Sim is fucking great.

 **Stranger:** Yeah, I know!!! I really liked Undertale too.

 **You:** Undertale was pretty good but I didn’t finish it.

 **Stranger:** Damn, why not?

 **You:** Idk. I felt like I was playing it for the wrong reasons.

 **Stranger:** What reasons were those?

 

            Mark hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keys. He didn’t know how to say _I was just doing it because a lot of people wanted to see a video of it_ and not give himself away.

 

 **You:** I was only really playing it because my friends wanted me to.

 **Stranger:** Oh, I understand. It’s still a really good game though. Maybe you should give it another chance?

 **You:** Yeah, maybe. Idk when that’ll be though, I’m pretty busy most of the time.

 **Stranger:** I hear that. I’m ALWAYS fucking busy.

 **You:** Oh yeah? What do you do for a living?

 

            The other person waited for a couple of minutes before replying, and Mark wondered if he’d been too personal. But then, finally:

 

 **Stranger:** Computer work, mostly. Nothing to brag about.

 **You:** Do you like it?

 **Stranger:** It has its ups and downs. I like it most of the time, though.

 **You:** Yeah, my job’s the same way.

 **Stranger:** What do you do?

 **You:** I work from home. Like you said, nothing interesting. I do get to work in my underwear though.

 **Stranger:** Haha, nice!

 

            Mark chatted with the stranger for quite some time, finding that they were genuinely fun to talk to. They talked about video games, social media sites, recent movies they’d seen…the time flew by, faster than Mark had anticipated.

 

 **Stranger:** Did you see Suicide Squad when it came out?

 **You:** Yeah, I went with my girlfriend. It was alright.

 **Stranger:** Just alright?! I thought it was fucking GREAT!

 **You:** Lol yeah, my gf liked it a lot. I just couldn’t get into the plot.

 **Stranger:** Why not?! All of the characters kicked ass! Especially Deadshot.

 **You:** I really liked Will Smith as Deadshot, I’ll admit.

 **Stranger:** Agreed. And I liked this version of the Joker, even though he’s getting shat all over.

 **You:** Shat? Wtf does shat mean?

 **Stranger:** It’s the past-tense of shit. Duh.

 **You:** I have never heard that term before in my life.

 **Stranger:** Well you have now. You should use it, it’s a lot of fun.

            Suddenly, Mark heard the front door open, and then a laughing voice call, “ _Maaark_? You awake?”

            His blood ran cold. Kayla was home, and she didn’t sound very drunk. He looked back at his computer in horror.

            He wasn’t doing anything _wrong_ by any stretch of the imagination, but still. His time spent on Omegle was his secret and his alone, and everything that he’d done on here felt private—especially this conversation, with this person that was so nice and sociable and that seemed to understand him so well.

 

 **You:** Hey, I have to go. It’s an emergency.

 **Stranger:** Aw, dammit! I was having fun.

 **You:** Yeah, same here. Do you think there’s another place we could talk where we could actually find each other again?

 

            Mark heard clunking as Kayla moved through the house. “Where are you? Are you in your computer room?”

            Shit. He didn’t have much time.

 

 **Stranger:** Well, I don’t wanna just give away all my personal info, you know? Talking’s been fun, but I don’t wanna risk you being a serial killer.

 **You:** No, I completely understand!

 

            Mark didn’t want to give away personal information any more than this person did. Not only would it shatter all his fun of being a regular, anonymous person, but _they_ could very well be a serial killer, too.

 

 **You:** What about email? Is your email address anonymous enough?

 **Stranger:** Yeah, I’ve got a personal one that is.

 

            Kayla knocked on the computer room door, and Mark practically jumped out of his skin.

            “Hey, why’d you lock the door?” she asked, sounding concerned. The doorknob continued to rattle.

 

 **You:** Mine’s sirspamalot@gmail.com. You?

 **Stranger:**  floweydude@gmail.com. Why is yours called sir spamalot?

 **You:** Because it’s the site I normally use to sign up for websites that I know are gonna send me spam.

 **Stranger:** Lol, gee I’m very flattered, thanks.

 

            Kayla grew more restless. “ _Mark_! Are you in there?!”

            “Uh, yeah!” he hollered back, saving the email into his phone. “Sorry, just finished up a video!”

 

 **Stranger:** You there?

 **You:** Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, someone’s trying to talk to me.

 **Stranger:** Oh, okay, sorry! Email me whenever, okay?

 **You:** Thanks. You have a good night.

 **Stranger:** You too.

 

**Stranger has disconnected.**

Mark closed Omegle and stood on shaky legs. He crossed the room and unlocked the door, where on the other side stood a slightly-disheveled Kayla. She was leaning against the doorframe for support but seemed otherwise lucid.

            “What took you so long?” she asked with a slight pout, her purple curls falling in wisps around her face like a halo.

            “I’m sorry, I just wanted to upload all the footage before I stood up,” Mark lied through his teeth. “It always makes me nervous, I’m afraid some of it will end up corrupted or something.”

            Kayla considered this and seemed to find it acceptable, because she smiled at Mark and suddenly drew him in for a tight hug.

            “I had fun tonight. I wish you could’ve gone out with us.”

            “Yeah, maybe next time,” Mark said weakly. The truth was he’d been avoiding Kayla’s bitchy friends for quite some time. He just didn’t have the heart to tell her yet.

            She kissed his cheek, stepped back, and yawned loudly. “I’m exhausted. You coming to bed with me?”

            Mark glanced at his phone, where the email was buried under a pile of other files in his Notes section, hopefully in a place where no one else would find it. He could email the person now, but they’d just stopped talking. He didn’t want to seem weird.

            “Yeah, I’m pretty tired myself,” he acquiesced, pocketing the phone. “Let’s go to bed.”

            “Great! I can’t wait to get out of this stupid dress….” Kayla marched down the hall, already undoing the side zipper before she even crossed the threshold. She’d never been too big on modesty around people she knew well. Mark had learned to accept—possibly even appreciate it.

            He followed her in, tossing his phone face down on the table. Kayla tossed him some pajama pants to change into—his favorites, with the little squirrels printed all over the front and back. He smiled at the gesture. She knew him so well. He was honestly lucky to have her.

            But that night, he still couldn’t help glancing at his phone while he tried to sleep.

* * *

            Far away on the other side of the globe, Sean “Jack” McLoughlin closed his laptop and stowed it under his bed. His alarm clocked asserted that it was five in the morning, but it didn’t feel like that at all.

            This was partly because he was always so jittery now that sleep felt like torture. It was also partly because his enormous bed was too painfully empty to sleep in lately. Most of the time he laid there staring at the ceiling, feeling cold and sick when there was no one lying beside him. He could only endure it for so long before he pulled out his computer to work or play a game or engage in some other distraction.

            Such was Omegle, a site that he’d known about for ages but only just started to use within the last week. Most of the people he encountered on there were stupid, but there were those rare occasions where he talked with someone who was interesting or funny. It staved off the loneliness for at least an hour or two, and that was more than Jack could say for any other form of communication where he was forced to be Jacksepticeye: the bubbly, bouncy man that everyone praised for his endless positivity.

            But where was that positivity now?

            He felt it budding up a small bit now that he had an email address. Finally, a consistent presence that he could talk to! Sure, he didn’t know anything about the person as far as their name or even their gender, but that was kind of the beauty of it. He didn’t know them, and more importantly, they didn’t know him.

            And what more did he need to know, anyway? His mysterious new friend liked Goat Simulator and worked from home. It wasn’t a perfect partnership, but what better company could Jack ask for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've returned! :D
> 
> So I know I said I was taking a break, but I REALLY missed writing on here, and I came up with a new idea that I just couldn't ignore. Hopefully you guys will like it.
> 
> When I asked people on Tumblr if they'd like to read a new story even if I couldn't promise frequent, consistent updates (because my schedule is WAY crazier now that I'm in college, whereas in high school finding time to write was a little easier), and I got a unanimous yes. So here we are! I hope you all enjoy this story and I'm sorry if there are long gaps between chapters. I promise I am doing my best.
> 
> Comments are always greatly appreciated!!!


	2. An Empty Fridge

            Kayla woke late for work the next morning, so Mark was treated to the soothing sounds of her tearing the room apart as she searched for her uniform and struggled to splash some makeup on her face before going out.

            “Why do you need to get all dolled up if your late?” he asked her groggily. She shot him a look of annoyance.

            “Because I’m a _makeup artist_ , Mark! I can’t show up unmade! That’d be like showing up for a cubicle job in your pajamas!”

            Mark didn’t comment. Needling Kayla when she was stressed was never a good idea.

            She left in a hurry, leaving Mark with an empty house. He wandered a bit, eating more coffee cake and watching the morning weather. (The rain seemed to have abated, thank the fucking Lord.) He scrolled on his phone and checked the status of his previous two videos, which seemed to have gone over moderately well with viewers.

            He closed YouTube and stared at the Notes app on his phone, chewing on his lower lip. He opened it compulsively and stared at the email.

            Floweydude@gmail.com. What had made them choose that name? Mark was pretty sure it was from _Undertale_. They were certainly passionate about that game. Mark couldn’t think of a video game that he loved that strongly.

            He thought back to when he’d first started YouTube, back when _Amnesia_ was the game to play. He remembered games like _Presentable Liberty_ , _Soma_ , and _Five Nights at Freddy’s_ that left an impression on him, but none so much that he would name his email address after one of the characters. Was he just…unenthusiastic? Was he losing his touch?

            Mark set his phone on his lap and cradled his chin in his hand, scooting down until he was lying flat on his back and starting at the ceiling. He could see the window out of the top of his vision. Outside, it was a beautiful day. Should he go out there and enjoy it?

            He picked up his phone. He didn’t have to be making videos yet. Kayla obviously wasn’t available for chitchat, and he had no idea what his other friends were doing and whether or not they were busy. Besides, he didn’t want to bother them.

            That left only one option.

 

**New Message**

**To:** floweydude@gmail.com

 **Subject:** Hi!

 

            So, I don’t exactly know how to start this message, because I’ve never really done anything like this before. But, hi! It’s me, the idiot you met on Omegle last night. I’m glad you gave me your email.

            So since this is our first time talking again and MY first time ever having a “pen pal” or whatever the fuck you want to call it, I wanted to go ahead and set some precedents for us talking.

            Part of the beauty of this is that I get to remain anonymous. It’s not because I don’t like you or because I’m hiding some terrible secret about my identity. Just trust me when I say that I have my reasons not to want to give away my real name or my friends’ names or stuff like that.

            That being said, I honestly couldn’t wait to email you. My girlfriend works during the day and none of my friends live near me, so usually I’m a little lonely for the morning and afternoon. It’s nice having somebody to talk to that’s into a lot of the same stuff as I am.

            I was just thinking earlier about your email address. It’s from Undertale, right? I can’t remember the last time I was so passionate about a game that I named my email or username or something after it. I still really like to play games, but I just haven’t found one that stuck with me like that in a long time.

            Anyway, I’m done rambling. I hope you have a good morning.

 

            XOXO,

            Sir Spamalot

* * *

            It was midday, and Jack was already on his second cup of coffee. He was configuring his lighting at the moment, and he already had the day’s games picked out. The only thing left to sort out was his energy. He’d barely slept last night, and he needed all the caffeine he could get to churn out his on-camera presence.

            Finally finished with the lights, he sat back and mindlessly opened Chrome while he kicked back the last of his espresso. He checked his various social media websites (nothing really to report, besides a ton of unanswered notifications that he knew there wouldn’t be enough time in the world to sort through) and then checked his email, first business then personal.

            A new one sat on top.

 

            **Sir Spamalot**               **Hi!**

Jack’s eyes widened. He scarcely dared to breathe. He hadn’t known they would get back to him so fast.

            He opened the email and read the whole thing through. He nodded at the explanation of Sir Spamalot’s anonymity. He understood that better than anyone.

            He also frowned at the paragraph about _Undertale_. Had this person really gone so long without truly connecting with a game? Wasn’t that what video games were all about?

            Not hesitating, he hit **Reply** and began to type.

 

 **To:** sirspamalot@gmail.com

 **Subject:** Re: Hi!

 

            Hey, good to hear from you! I wasn’t expecting you to get back so fast, haha.

            As for the anonymous stuff, I completely understand. I wasn’t planning on giving my name or anything like that myself. You can tell me as much or as little as you’d like, and I promise I won’t be offended at all. :)

            To answer your question, yes, floweydude is an Undertale reference. I’m really sorry to hear that you haven’t found a game you really connected with in a while. There’s a ton of games that I’ve loved. They’re basically my whole life (as pitiful as that sounds, lol).

            I’d be happy to talk to you any time. I live alone, and most of my friends are overseas, so I totally understand the loneliness. Believe me, you’re doing me as much of a favor by shooting me an email as I am you. :P

            Do you have any other hobbies besides playing games?

 

            Xx,

            Floweydude

 

            Jack checked the time. He needed to start working. He closed Chrome, opened the game, and started recording. It wasn’t a long video, or even one he was too terribly excited about making, but he got more into it as time went on. The game was stupid and silly and pretty broken in some places, but it made for a good laugh, and his mood improved quickly.

            That was the best part of Jack’s job, he’d decided long ago. There were days when he was in the shittiest mood he could possibly be, but as soon as he turned the camera on and engaged in a game with his audience, he felt like he was on top of the world. He tried to bear that in mind when he was _off_ -camera as well, but it was easy to forget. Knowing that, he clung to his good mood for as long as he could before stopping the camera.

            It could be edited later. First, a snack. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge with half a mind to steal Sarah’s—

            _Oh. Wait._ Jack’s smile disappeared as he stared at the fridge’s contents. Some lunchmeat, a carton of milk, some uncooked bacon strips. There was no strawberry yogurt, though, and no party platters of cheese and salami that she used to buy and eat single-handedly. He hadn’t bought any of that stuff since she’d left.

            Jack stared at the food with a lump in his throat. He wasn’t hungry for bacon. He wasn’t hungry at all.

            He let the door swing shut.

* * *

            The door swung open, and through it Kayla walked in, looking worn out as could be. Mark looked up from the couch and turned off the T.V.

            “Hey, babe. You’re home early, aren’t you?” he asked, standing up. Kayla set her purse down and smiled wearily.

            “Yeah, two of my clients were actually early, so the boss said I could go on home,” she explained. She kicked off her heels and walked barefoot across the kitchen tile to give him a brief kiss. “What are you doing today?”

            “Uh, nothing really. I’ve already got my work done.” He’d recorded his two videos pretty much first thing in the morning so that he wouldn’t have a repeat of last night’s fiasco. “What about you. You doing anything with your friends?”

            “Well, Starr and her husband invited us out for coffee,” she said brightly with a small, hopeful smile on her face. “Would you wanna go?”

            Something akin to disgust coiled in Mark’s gut. He’d met Starr before, and she was just as gossipy and snide as Kayla’s other friends. Still, if he said no outright, she’d know something was wrong for sure.

            “I’d love to go,” he said with a forced smile, and Kayla’s face lit up so radiantly that it almost broke his heart.

            “You will?! That’s great! Thank you so much!” She pulled him in for another kiss, one that caught him off guard and almost made him lose his balance. “Oh my God! They want us to meet them in an hour, so be ready in thirty minutes, okay?”

            Without waiting for an answer, she dashed into their bedroom, probably to redo her makeup for the outing. Kayla was the type of woman that believed each outing deserved its own makeup look, a process which Mark had been forced to accept. At least she was timely with it.

            Indulgently, he passed her on his way to their bathroom and smeared some product in his hair to try and make it look at least somewhat styled. The red was fading out; he really needed to get it redone. He knew Kayla could probably pull some strings in her salon and get it done free (or at least for reduced price), but he hadn’t had the time or the energy to ask.

            He brushed his teeth and swished some mouthwash around, then stepped out of the bathroom and walked up to Kayla, who was sitting in front of her vanity dabbing pink on her cheeks with a practiced hand.

            “I’m ready when you are,” he reported. She swiveled around in her chair and frowned at him.

            “Really? You’re wearing _that_?”

            Mark looked down at himself. “What’s wrong with my red flannel?” It was his favorite shirt, after all. If anything he thought he looked spiffier and more attractive in it than any of his other clothes.

            “You wear it _everywhere_ , Mark,” she sighed. She turned back around in her chair and continued putting powder on her face. “Go pick out one of the shirts I got you for Christmas or something. I know _they’re_ in good shape.”

            Mark pursed his lips and tried not to say anything snotty. He opened the closet and scanned his shirts, searching for one that she’d find acceptable.

            “I don’t know what you want me to wear!” he called over his shoulder.

            Exasperatedly, Kayla stomped up next to him, glaring at the contents of the wardrobe. She thrust her hand in and pulled out an olive green button-up. “Here. This one’s nice.”

            He took it from her and stared at it with a frown. “You don’t think it’ll clash with my hair?” he said dubiously.

            Kayla rolled her eyes. “Well maybe if you didn’t _dye_ it that color you’d be able to wear half your clothes,” she said scathingly.

            Mark looked up at her in shock. “You’re one to talk! You dyed _your_ hair purple!”

            She tugged on her violet locks and frowned.

            “At least _my_ hair is just red on top,” Mark went on. “God, why’re you in such a shitty mood today?”

            “I’m _not_ in a shitty mood!” she cried indignantly, then groaned and put her face in her hands. She took a deep breath and said, finally, “Look, babe, I’m sorry. Work was just super stressful today, okay? I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

            “Yeah, well, I sure as hell didn’t deserve it,” Mark shot back, resigning himself to unbutton his current shirt and put on the new one.

            “I know, you’re right, I’m sorry!” she despaired, falling back onto the bed in defeat. “Look, babe, I was wrong and I really am sorry. Can we please just forget it happened?”

            Mark didn’t answer right away, even though he knew it was childish. She stared at him doe-eyed and pleading from the bed, her perfect makeup contrasting with the sorrowful look on her face.

            “All right, it’s fine. Let’s just move on.” Mark shoved his arms through the sleeves of the button-up and did up the middle. “How does it look? Good?”

            “Yeah, it looks great!” Kayla said enthusiastically. Mark couldn’t decide if she really meant it or if she was just kissing his ass after what had happened.

            She stood up, pulling her work shirt off over her head and letting her black jeans pool around her ankles. She strode up to her closet and quickly pulled out a sundress that looked far too nice just to be going to Starbucks. Mark gazed at their outfits. Jeez, was this a casual outing or a business meeting?

            “Thanks for coming with me on this, by the way,” Kayla gushed as she got dressed. She smiled at Mark. “I know you’re gonna have fun.”

            _That’s debatable_ , he wanted to say, but instead he just rewarded her with a tight-lipped smile.

            His phone pinged in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see that he’d gotten an email notification. His heart jumped into his throat.

            “I’ll meet you outside, okay?” he said in a voice slightly different from his own. Without waiting for an answer, he speed-walked out the door and onto the lawn, where the sun beat down mercilessly from the heavens now that the rain had gone. Mark could tell he was going to seriously regret wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

            It was from Floweydude, thank God. Mark skimmed the contents of the email. At least they’d said they didn’t care about remaining anonymous. It made things a helluva lot easier for him.

 

 **To:** floweydude@gmail.com

 **Subject:** Re: re: Hi!

 

            Great! I’m glad we’re on the same page.

            As far as hobbies go, I like to work out sometimes. Me and some friends used to go to the gym pretty often, and they’ve got a rock climbing wall there that I worked out on so often I could climb to the top just using my arms. My legs are a bit of a different story, but it doesn’t matter, LOL.

            I also like sketch comedy and improv comedy. I go to improv shows sometimes, and they’re always fucking hysterical. I WISH I could be that funny. Most of the time I feel like I’m just being so stupid that people can’t help but laugh. But maybe that’s a little too dark.

            And as far as friends go, I appreciate it. It’s not that I have none; I’m actually about to go out with my girlfriend to meet up with some of her friends for coffee. It’s mostly just that, while I love my friends, they aren’t always around right when I need them. And I know that’s too much to ask of them, cuz they’re adults with lives too, but it’s just nice to have somebody to talk to, y’know?

            Plus, what’s nice about this sort of friendship is I can say whatever the fuck I want with minimal-to-no consequences, because it’s not like anyone but you is going to know what I said, and you barely even know who I am, so it can’t badly reflect my character! XD For instance, I could tell you that the idea of going out to meet this particular friend of my girlfriend’s makes me want to blow chunks. I’d rather get a root canal than go see this girl. I’ve met her before, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a more stuck-up bitch.

            God, that felt good to type out. Feel free to rant at me if you want to, because I know ranting is a favorite pastime of mine and I’m liable to do it at least once per email if you and I start talking regularly.

 

            Lovingly yours,

            Sir Spamalot

 

            Mark was kind of starting to regret dubbing himself Sir Spamalot.

            The door behind him shut, and he turned to see Kayla dressed beautifully in a red sundress and matching flats. Her freshly-made face glowed in the sunlight like an angel. He couldn’t help reaching out to her and holding her hand. She was impossible to stay mad at when she smiled at him like that.

            “You look happy,” she noted, and Mark admitted that he did feel better, though he didn’t know if that was due to her or Floweydude. “You ready to go?”

            “Yeah.” _Ready as I’ll ever be._ “Let’s head out now before we hit foot traffic. Believe me, it was _God-awful_ yesterday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this seems slow-going, it's mostly because I'm just kind of noodling around with very vague ideas of events that'll happen. This story poses a challenge because Mark and Jack aren't necessarily in the same place to interact together, which makes it harder to relate their stories to one another. (But on the other hand, that's kind of the point, given that they're supposed to be Internet pen pals.)
> 
> This story is also challenging to me because I wanted to try and make this one as "real world" as possible, meaning I wanted Mark and Jack to still be their YouTube selves and keep it as true to their lives as I could, except for their relationship statuses. It makes it harder to take liberty with what happens in their lives or what they'd be inclined to do, because they're supposed to resemble the ACTUAL Mark and Jack, not just the "versions" that I made up for the purposes of plot.
> 
> All that being said, I'm having fun writing this story and I hope it turns out in a way that everybody enjoys. :)
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!!!!!


End file.
